Sparks of Drabble
by gumfrog
Summary: Drabbles pertaining to a wide variety of characters. I own nothing.
1. Dreams

She was there in his room again. But he didn't care. She was his at night and he wouldn't give that up for anything.

_Excitement…._

He watched her swagger towards him, hips swaying in a hypnotic fashion. Closer and closer she came to him. His thoughts bounced around his head as the possible outcomes played in his mind.

Anticipation…

By the time she made to his bed he practically shivered with longing. He wanted her so badly. He would never breathe again as long as she was by his side. She was his meth, his only drug.

Addiction…

She lowered herself onto his bed and stared into his eyes. He saw the passion in her eyes. But in a moment it was gone as she latched her lips firmly onto his. Who knew heaven could be so wrong?

Passion…

At the moment of contact each were shocked by the intensity of their lips but they plundered ahead. H mapped the crevices of her mouth like a desperate man dying of thirst.

Spark…

Their tongues battled for dominance in a war that was sure to never end. He gripped her head for deeper access and she granted him. He was burning alive…. and he loved it.

_Fire…._

In an instant the kisses sweetened and they set a slow leisurely pace. He poured every ounce of his love into those short but meaningful kisses.

Loving…

And with a start he woke up his dream fading like the last dying embers of a fire. She was his but only in the night.

_Disappointment…_


	2. Dark Winter

Ireland was a white wonderland. Snowflakes drifted slowly from the skies inviting adults and children alike to partake in the festive activities. Nature was loud, organized chaos. All the sounds alone annoying but together a musical worthy of the highest rewards. Small kids laughed loudly, infants cuddled into the warm bosom of their mothers, and chilled fingers grasped warm mugs of hot chocolate. Happiness was so noticeable you could drown in it. But happiness is not drowning. That is pain.

Pain wasn't far away either. Hidden in the mazes of corridors of a manor, there was an office. That is where the pain was. All the lights were off and in the darkness a young man sat. Quietly pondering many things but one thing coming to his mind repeatedly.

_Where was his childhood?_

He looked to be only 16. Why wasn't he outside, running around in the snow with all the other children and teenagers of his kind. If you were to look closer you would notice his red rimmed eyes and the cloudy blank expression on his hollowed face.

_Why was he crying?_

If you to see what he saw and hear what he has heard maybe you would cringe or vomit or cry for your mother; this man suffered in silence. Where was this man's childhood? Had it been washed from his memory or had he never even had one?

So in the dark he sat, full of pity and depression. He deserved to be. Truth is, he never had a childhood. He never held a snowball, he never played with children of his age, he never danced in the rain. Truth be told, he never had a childhood, only adulthood and pain.


	3. Don't Let Her Go

A/N: Thank you all SO MUCH for reviewing, alerting, favorite-ing. SO this chapter was a suggestion from RideForeverO.o. I hope this adds up to your expectations. I know it's both A/H and H/T but…I'm the writer…so yeah . Oh and I apologize for the horrid grammar. I suck at proper…grammar. Disclaimer: Yep don't own it…..WHY?

Smitten with his Captain. How crazy could he get? He was indeed crazy. Years of his brother had caused that but he loved her. More than anything. How could someone not. So when Trouble heard that the Fowl kid had messed up again he was quick to right it.

Trouble knocked on the boy's window quietly not wishing to disturb "Godzilla" who often wandered the halls at night. He saw a shadow move and make its way to the window. Just in time Trouble took a step back, saving himself from a very personal interaction with a heavy window.

Even in the moonlight Trouble was slightly shocked by the Mudboy's appearance. Gone was the confident, cocky boy replaced with a man, a man who had seen pain and death over and over.

"Commander. What is the honor of this late night…er…early morning visit?" Artemis' mismatched eyes peered curiously if not somewhat icily at Trouble but what he had to say was important so he ignored the scaredy-pixie in him and took a deep breath.

"I heard you screwed up," Trouble started off, straight to the point, "You did some bad things in the past, kid, but you're better now. But sometimes you me make really doubt that. You are really lucky that she likes you. Personally, I don't see it. You are a convict, a criminal, and you're only how old?" Trouble placed his hands on Artemis' shoulders.

"Keep her close, love her, befriend her, but NEVER leave her. 'Cause I will be the first person there, with a box of tissues and cheesy movies to comfort her. And I won't ever let her go."

Artemis only nodded at Trouble's powerful speech. Trouble was right. Grab the chance before she falls for someone else. But sadly, Trouble noted, It's too late for me.


	4. Memories

Change is inevitable. No matter how much you wish and pray, things never stay the same. Times change and in that knowledge people change too. Over time old thoughts are discarded while new ones take their place. Something that we all said would never change has been forgotten in the sea of newcomings. New faces are welcomed to this earth as old ones depart. It's the life cycle simple as that. Everyone knows that nothing can ever stay the same but for some reason we all struggle to keep it how it used to be.

And the funny thing is we never notice things are changing until the songs finished or the calender's replaced. Us as humans yearn to bring back the times we were comfortable with instead of facing the unsettling prospects of what is to come. But it is a challenge were forced to meet. You're not human if you haven'nt thought of going back at least once.

Some people take it more seriously than others, and actually find themselves back in time, but for the normal we can't. Heading to uncertain time scares us so we hide in memories. Memories of happiness. But those memories fade til your stuck in the present and we face our challanges. But what if those memories...dissapear? What would you compare yourself to? How would you know what's wrong or right?

An Irish boy sits quietly in front of his fireplace, pondering whatever geniuses ponder. The house is quiet,empty, alone. Just like the boy. His happy memories are gone, what can he hide behind when the changes come? His only memories consist of pain. His father's dissapearence, his mother's spiral into insanity, his childhood.

The boy looks up from the flickering fire and turns his eyes to the simple plants lined up on the mantle. All are green, boring. But one stands out to him. A prickly plant with berries brighter than the sun and redder than the purest ruby. A name comes to his lips.

_ Holly..._

And the memories flood back.

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**A/N: Yay! Reviews! I love all of you!**


	5. The Connotations of Fire

**Inferno. **He watched as the once great manor fell to the ground. "The great manor" was now nothing but ash and stray twigs ,but the fire kept on it's attack, wiping out all traces of Artemis Fowl and his faerie connections. It had to be some sort of super-inferno. It destroyed everything leaving only fine powder. In a few days nothing would be there, except a large patch of new grass. The LEP had been crafty enough to block all entrances and exits of the manor before commencing. Everything had been fool-proof. They only forgot to make sure that everyone was inside. They were lucky enough to know that _almost_ everybody was inside, except the one person they wanted. At that moment, the person they wanted stood, watching as his family turned to dust in front of his eyes. But as he stood there listening to the roar of the inferno, for the screams had long since been silenced, he only thought one thing. The heat.

**Warmth.** He was certainly warm. But no matter how hot his exterior was, his heart was frozen and that one spark, died out in it's last ditch effort to remain alive. Pity. If only their had been something to blow on it, then it could be as strong as the fire currently ravaging his home. He sneered as he turned his back on the ashes of his past and walked forward. No need to cry over spilled blood. Blood. No. There was no more of that. The fire took care of it. Not even the destruction would be left.

**Destruction. **What was fire without destruction? It was it's very nature. From the smallest candle flame, to the largest inferno, destruction was in its wake. But maybe it wasn't destruction, but a wake-up call. How could he have _trusted _them? He had let emotions get in the way and look where it had led him, the massacre of his family. He was determined to avenge them.

**Determination. **He would not give up. He never had. Not when his father disappeared, not when his mother had gone insane, and not now. What were a few dead bodies to him anyway? He would just show them the pain he felt. Tenfold.

**Pain.** The last human emotion he would ever experience. Now he only felt uncontrollable blood lust. In the attempt to kill the monster they had only made him worse. And until all of The People lay dead at his merciless feet would he rest. In an idiot's move they had created their own greatest enemy. And as everything burned to the ground he laughed because they would find out soon enough how "great" he was. For when you play with fire, you're guaranteed to get burnt.


	6. To Feel Is To Be Weak

**A/n: Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**This is a continuation of Connotations of Fire. Might help to read that first.**

_Can you feel the wind, the sun, love?_

He is emotionless. Good thing, too. Emotions only get in the way. The way of power, in the way of control. He might have at one point, felt the light-heartedness of love but it's gone now. He wants revenge. He wants them begging. He wants- no needs to feel their blood run by his hands. Only when they are all dead will he quiet.

What happened? They were at peace. The betrayal hurt the most. They were- dare he even say it- friends. He stupidly trusted them. Why? What had he done? He had changed. He was innocent. They didn't care though, they just went and killed them all. His family. His life. His conscience.

So now he planned, plotted the ultimate revenge. He sat still, countless images racing behind closed lids. Ways of torture, genocide, mass execution. It all made the sadistic man inside him smile. A smile laden with the blood of his soon-to-be victims.

The computer bleached his skin white, practically translucent. But Artemis didn't care. His plan was brilliant. His plan was fool-proof. And even better, no one knew about it. His family was dead. He friends betrayed him. The People thought him dead. It would be a complete surprise. Oh he loved surprises especially when he was the one giving.

Artemis removed himself from his thoughts and resumed the constant typing of his ideas. The computer obviously wasn't as grand as the ones he had at home but his home was gone. Now that became a problem. Living on the streets was not apart of his plan. So he found a dingy apartment in Cobh and settled for a little bit. It was a small, dirty room, cockroaches crawling from the corners, scampering away from the gangly teen in the chair. It was home to him though. It would do.

Hours passed before, food was ignored, and the bathroom reluctantly acknowledged. He was determined on this project, he would win. Once he was content with what he had, Artemis stopped and prepared for bed. Planning was tiring. Not as gracefully as he might have once done, he plopped down onto his "bed" (simply a mattress stuck in the neatest corner of his room) and lay down. Tomorrow was another day, one step closer to revenge. Dreams of genocide beckoned him.

_Can you feel the wind?_

_Can you feel the sun?_

_Can you feel the love?_

_Can you feel…?_


	7. Dear Big Brother

Feburary 27, 2011

Dear Artemis,

Myles is writing this for me because I can't spell all the words he can. I hope you don't mind. Mummy told us to write to you because you were sick, does she mean like the one time I had the flu? Chicken soup helped me then, maybe it would make you feel better. Or maybe some treacle and expresso. According to Mummy we can't visit you because the hospital you're in is too far away. How far away is it? Shaun, a kid in my class, told me he once visited America. That's pretty far. Myles is calling me a simple-toon because apparently there are much farther places than America, like the Sun. Is your hospital on the Sun? Myles says the Sun would burn you alive. So I hope you change hospitals...

You must be really sick because Mummy has been really quiet. I just asked her why you where in the hospital and I didn't understand what she said and Myles wasn't in the room so I don't know. Can you tell me? Again I suggest chicken soup.

I got an A on my art project! Mummy hung it up on the refrigerador. She says I'll be the next Monet, but I rather be as good an artist as you. Your drawings and paintings are pretty, especially the one of the girl with the pointy ears. I think it's your best one! Maybe I'll paint you a picture to make you feel better, it'll probablly make you happier than the story Myles plans on sending you.

Myles refuses to write anymore, so I'm using the big dictionary in the library to spell all my words. I didn't even have to look up the word dictionary though because it was on the cover! I bet you probably know all the words in the dictonary. Myles just read everything I wrote and said he was 'apalled at my spelling' whatever that means. He just went through and fixed it all. Apparently even an infant can spell dictionary. Myles is writing again so I don't have to keep looking up words. That's good it took too long.

Dad is off on another trip to a place in Asia. According to Myles, he is trading with some people who ship tea or something. I wish I could travel as much as Dad and you. It must be lots of fun. Can you take me on one of your trips? Myles wants to go to.

Myles is yelling at me to hurry up because he wants to write his own letter, too. So get better, Artemis.

Love,

Beckett


	8. Let Them Have Today

Shh… Do not say anything. This moment is precious, the last of its kind. It's picture perfect. Everything, everyone is happy. They sit there, laughing, rejoicing. Friends. Who would've guessed? These people so different from one another now depend on each other.

But watch, see the human? He used to be evil, but evil people, they do not laugh like that. Did you guess? He isn't evil anymore. He has been clean for 10 years. All thanks to his friends. He was forced so young. Friends, they didn't matter. Gold mattered, wealth mattered, fame mattered but what was love, family, friends? They didn't matter. Look, he smiles now. He, who swore that he would never be weak, falling so quickly.

And the red head? She was so lonely. She had friends but everything was so hard. Fighting was hard. But she did it so often. Against what, you may ask. A better question being, against what wasn't she fighting? Being the first female in a purely male environment, so very hard. Having no one to back her up? Practically unbearable. Yes, she smiles now but she wasn't years ago. No family, one or two friends, what had she to look forward to? Now she knows.

The man lying on the bench, he's tired. Wouldn't you be with what he's seen? Oh blood stains his hands; final wishes cloud his memory, but his heart, that is pure. Family? What's that? From early on he was alone and in charge. True, he had a sister to look after but she was independent; she didn't need anybody.

She's in pain too. She can hide it, but I know, she knows. Her future set in stone before she could even walk. She broke free of that mold, but she wants it back, and glue always leaves a mark behind. But here they are the Blue Diamond Siblings, sitting together, love and happiness etched in their faces. Their pasts were hard but for now the present was kind. So they rejoiced.

The man- pardon… the centaur. He was lonely, too. He was a genius but it was dangerous. It seemed IQ has more weight then thought. For his was crushing him. No one can understand a genius because they are smart enough to hide it. But they are too good, because what happens when no one can find them again? They become trapped, that is what happens. They lose it. This centaur luckily found it. He found friends, buoys to hold the genius up.

And do you see the dwarf? Yes the funny little man. The one laughing so hard. Would you think him ever to cry? No? Well he did. Everyday. Why? Only he knew, but it was enough. He had a rough life. What was wrong to others was okay to him but who did he have to guide him? No one. Everyone here was so lonely. For purely different reasons, true, but alone nevertheless.

Let us not forget the ones who have already fallen. They died with courage, alone, always alone, but their strength came from the need to protect their friends, their family. They did good, they lived well, or at least ended for reasons pure enough, true enough.

Shh… Don't ask questions. You'll know everything soon enough… Okay, one question. Who am I? I am reality. Why am I here? Tomorrow this will all be gone. Events beyond anyone's control will rip them apart, to the farthest corners of the world, alone they'll be again, but don't say anything… If you do, their last moment together will be tainted. Look at them… Watch them smile, watch them laugh… Do you dare take that away from them? Let them rejoice once more. For now, they are not alone. Shh… Don't say anything. Just… Just let them have now.


	9. Time to Climb

She was tired of falling. No matter what every time she tried to stand something pushed her down. But here she was falling again, along with dreams and… hopes. No matter what her feet would never touch ground. She was doomed to forever fall. What a fate that is. To fall forever is to let go of everything and to move on.

But here she stood camouflaged amongst people. People who smiled. People who could still feel the ground. What a pleasure. Was stability like she remembered it, just as wonderful, so… there? She wished for something to be there, so badly.

The heads all turned and she walked the aisle. So beautiful with her feet so sturdy on the floor. She was beautiful in white. Her veil was quaint, just as delicate as her, oh to be her. She could have been her only had she acted. Yes is a rather difficult word when one has spent a life fighting for oneself, learning to always say no.

He looked happier than ever, and it saddened her. She wished his smile was for her, but it wasn't. No she was always too busy falling. They were reciting vows, promising undying love, forever strong, forever there. But she realized that she couldn't promise him that. So here in a sea of people she smiled, sadly, but she smiled. For though he may not realize it every single smile that would ever grace his face would be because she said no.

They kissed and it was sweet even to her. She could see the love in both of their eyes, so young, so true, but so real. But now it was time for her to leave again. Her time on solid ground was up. It was time to fall again but this time she knew the truth.

Well you fall and you fall and you fall and it seems that's all you've ever done. Just fall. But when you hit the bottom you realize you can't fall anymore and you start the long climb up, back to solid ground.

So she climbs now, and though her arms grow tired she persists for what else does she have to do?

**A/N Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Now how about a bit more. I was struggling very hard against writer's block and reviews would be a nice little treat. **


	10. Sillohuette

**A/N: Only one review? Come on guys! I know I'm not that good of a writer but please review! Thanks you Sad Little Smile for reviewing, it meant a lot. :) This is a very vauge drabble which I originally didn't write for Sparks of Drabble, this truthfully could be for any female character in Artemis Fowl, but for some reason I'm leaning toward Angeline Fowl for this. Odd, I know.**

Dance. Dance like no one is there. Though the steps may be choppy, ungraceful, still dance. It's the passion that makes it real, not how many steps you memorized, not the complexity of the moves, true dancing stems from the reason you dance, for what or whom you dance.

When I was younger I saw a dancer, but I saw the silhouette better. So beautiful, so under appreciated. I wanted to be the sillohuette. No one watched the silhouette but I did, the dancer, shadow or not, had no passion, these were steps to be memorized, these were people to impress. The silhouette was empty, yet still so achingly beautiful. I pitied the perfect. I encouraged the the flawed passion. Yet to myself I was an exception.

When I was little I didn't want to be a dancer I wanted to be a dancer's silhouette, so graceful, no flaws in the expanse. A silhouette could be beautiful. When you are a silhouette everything is so simple, you are there to haunt, no one pays any attention to you but they realize if you were gone the dance would be lacking. But a silhouette has its drawbacks. So two dimensional, shadows do not have passion, they only give off a faint shimmer of the real emotion. But... To be a silhouette empty without soul, but so beautiful. If I was a shadow I could be beautiful. With edges so blurred, I would have no flaws. And sadly I turned beautiful, beautiful but a shell. Oh I danced through, flitting, barely touching the ground, sanity was the ground. I turned into a silhouette. I danced but I did so for the sense of normality and not for I.

But to dance... There are no more inhibitions, you are passion you are true unadulterated emotion. So dangerous any man could be blinded by your dance. Blinded yet still seeing, seeing through eyes of changing light, but you cannot dance forever, songs end in time and therefore so do you. True, no music is needed to dance but music is passion, passion is needed to dance.

Oh to dance through life, twirling through troubles all worries bouncing off a perfect spotting. But when you dance through life you miss moments. When you dance the gist is there but so focused on dancing, you miss the smiles of the watchers, the applause. A silhouette can see this. A silhouette can live but so empty is their life they do not recognize the preciousness of these memories. To be a dancer is tragic, to be so perfect, but perfection is a human impossibility. But dancers are not completely human are they? They are the connection among the beauty of the spirits and the amazement of the human race.

But human kind is cruel, they laugh if you are not a silhouette, you are not allowed to be anything less than what they expect, but they always forget, so ignorant, that you are yourself. So dance like no one watches, dance like the world consists of only you and your silhouette. Dance for the passion in you, dance for the reasons only you know. Dance to regain the life you missed while they booed, while you flitted amongst the clouds. Dance and the silhouette accompanies you.


End file.
